of her shirt. Shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes. Cute. Impressive scowl. I scratched my cheek. Irritated women were a particular specialty of mine. Six sis- ters—I was well trained. “Let’s just have a look,” I said passively, putting on my calm-in-a-crisis voice. “See what we’re dealing with.” I crouched between the back of her truck and the front of mine and surveyed the da- mage as she stood over me, her arms cros- sed. I looked up at her. “I tapped your trailer hitch. Your truck is fine.” Mine had a small dent, but it wasn’t anything major. “I don’t think we need to get our insurance compa- nies involved.” I couldn’t afford to have an accident on my driving record. It wasn’t good for my job. I pushed up on my knees and turned to her. She leaned over and tugged on the hitch. It didn’t wiggle. “Fine,” she said, obviously satisfied with my assessment. “So, are we done here?” “T think we can be done.” She whirled, darting around to the pas- senger side of her truck as I started for the grocery store. She dove into the cab, her legs dangling from the seat as she leaned in on her stomach. Her flip-flop fell off into the parking lot with a plop. She had a nice ass. “Hey,” she said, twisting to look at me as I oo ©